It's what people do
by VenusJay
Summary: Story follows from the interrogation room and what occurs between Mycroft and Moriarty and the complicated chess game played between them. Rated M for themes of drug use and later chapters. Please comment or review or feel free to send me a message.
1. Chapter 1

"How long has it been now?"

"Eighteen hours," he replied in a curt manner. His weight shifted ever so slightly forward as he watched the scene unfold through the glass.

"You think he'll get something out of him," I asked.

My supervisor looked at me wearily, frown lines apparent around his otherwise pleasant dimples.

"Doubt it. He's not right in the head."

"Who's Sherlock?"

"Dunno," he said.

"Was this the guy that drowned that wee kid?"

He didn't reply.

"Will Mr Holmes be here soon?"

He sighed.

"I don't know Stevens, stop asking me questions."

"Sorry Sir."

"Go get me a coffee," he said as he rubbed his temples.

"Yes Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

"I will ask you again, what is your connection to Vincent Scott?"

The man continued to look at the floor.

"Mr Moriarty, you will be detained here until you co-operate, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," he whispered.

He looked up suddenly. His eyes were such a dark colour in the fluorescent lighting. It was haunting and difficult to look away. The door opened.

"He's here."

The officer sighed and stood from his chair, relieved to be able to go home.

The young man muttered something at him as he passed his chair.

"What?"

"You're wife," he said with a slight smile. "She's very pretty."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled to himself and tilted his head back, flexing his hands in the handcuffs.

"Nothing," he sighed amicably with a shrug.

The officer shook his head sadly.

"You'll not be so smug when Mr Holmes is finished with you."

He jumped when the man straightened up immediately and squirmed in his seat.

"He's here," he murmured excitedly. "I knew he would come back."

"You may leave us."

Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, appraising the room. He gave a brief smile and and encouraging nod as the officer left them.

"Mr Moriarty, apologies to have kept you waiting."


	3. Chapter 3

His laugh was oddly brightening in the current setting. The grey ceiling tiles matching the grey floors. The cold empty room allowing it to echo cheerily. Admittedly, talking about Sherlock had stirred the fondness within me for my brother's antics. It allowed me to reminisce on a time when I had been able to protect him simply by tucking him under the duvet beside me as I studied.

"What else," came the demand.

"I think that will be all for today Mr Moriarty."

"No, no, no, no," he said hastily, eyes widening, head shaking, fists clenching. "I'll tell you more, much more. Like we agreed," he urged with an added smile for charm. "There's the drug rings and the smuggling and everything, don't you want to know about that? And...and I have information about all the important people. I have contacts," he rambled, pulling on the handcuffs restraining him.

"And I'm sure you'll need some time to prioritise which one you'll tell me about first," I replied with a smile. I'd been foolish, giving away my bargaining power. I'd gotten carried away.

"How long," he asked urgently.

"That depends."

He yelled angrily, thrashing and kicking.

"I'll tell you!"

Standing, I straightened my tie and made my way to the door, hearing the bolt slide across from the outside before it swung open.

"I know you will. We shall talk soon."


	4. Chapter 4

"He's been asking for you all day Mr Holmes. He's definitely lost track of time, says it's been weeks. Lot's of threats made."

"Thank you. If you would kindly open the door for me," he asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

She would never admit it but she loved watching him do that. The most intelligent man seeming so down to earth, suggesting things were about to get physical.

"Of course," she replied, hoping he wouldn't notice her blushing as she stood so close to open the door. Maybe she could suggest they get a coffee to discuss work. Or she could order takeaway to the office when they were both working late.

She watched through the glass as Mycroft sat in front of the prisoner. As usual he brightened immediately and began talking animatedly. The room was soundproofed but for an intercom that could be switched on by signal which by Mrcoft's request was switched off.

She wondered what they were talking about that could made the man who barely moved an inch to breath for days on end light up in the way he did when Mycroft was there. She imagined Mycroft was just as charming to this man as he was to everyone. Smoothly spoken and gentle to listen to. He wasn't the most handsome of the agents in the department but in her opinion he was by far the most attractive.

She decided, she would ask him for coffee.


	5. Chapter 5

"Naturally Sherlock was devastated," he smiled to himself. There was a distinct crinkle around his eyes when he did. Maybe Sherlock has it too. Just for a split second like that. I could ask. I could see a photo of him.

"Do you have a photo," I blurted out with less care than any other sentence.

He gave me an unreadable look then that came with the sort of sigh that I imagine comes with an upperclass British accent. It was motherly in a way. He gave a signal to the mirror on the wall and there was a buzzing sound.

"Marion, please bring me the file marked A91 on my desk."

Oh god. He has a photo. I could feel myself grinning.

"You may see the photo once you have detailed your involvement in what I believe is named 'Cobra'."

The door opened with a screech and I could feel my heart race.

"You agree?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you want," I told him. He took the brown folder from the hideous blonde woman and set it between us on the table.

"Begin."


	6. Chapter 6

I'd lied about pretty much everything until this point but I figured I could at least throw him a bone or something. Cobra was next to nothing anyway, he could have it. It would give him trust in me. So he would know that the bargain was working, he'd use it more, tell me more.

My stomach was tied in knots and I could feel my palms sweating slightly as he slid the folder towards himself and opened it to remove a photograph. He set it in front of me and everything just stopped. My head felt heavy and it was likely I'd swallowed cotton wool.

He was perfect.

"Blue eyes," I sighed. "I knew they'd be blue."

"Yes, well, hardly a difficult deduction," Mycroft said coolly.

"That's what he does," I said excitedly. "He deduces things, doesn't he? Like you said, like in your stories."

I wanted to touch the photo but the restraints held me back. It felt like an itch in my fingers, a burning inside my chest. I wanted the photo. I did. I wanted it.

"You have more," I insisted, seeing his thumb rest over something else in the folder. I strained to see but he pulled it further towards himself. He didn't seem to hear me.

"Hey!"

He looked up, startled.

"That will be all."

He swept the photo into the folder. I thought I was going to vomit.

"No, you can't! I told you about Cobra. We had a deal."

He swept out of the room so casually despite my screaming. Rage like this surprised me a little. My anger is usually quiet and stealthy but this just burned in me and bubbled around hissing angrily until it found the surface. I wanted to put my hands around his neck, watch his lips turn blue as the other agents watched in fear and they would scream and scream. I could sneak to the funeral. Sherlock would be there. Sherlock.


	7. Chapter 7

"He wanted to be a pirate. For his seventh birthday I spent the afternoon in town hunting through the most ghastly shops to find him a bright red bandana. There was a small costume store that supplied the eye patch and the sword and I thought very little of it as a gift. I anticipated that it would amuse him for an afternoon perhaps. He had shown some interest in books about pirates and it seemed the fitting thing for a young and rambunctious boy who spent a great deal of time alone."

Leaning back I remembered that it had been mother who suggested it. The thought gave me quite a dejected feeling as I recalled that perhaps I had not been the attentive brother I was reciting myself to be.

"When he opened it he laughed with the sort of happiness only children can have and promptly discarded his other gifts in favour of it. He refused to take it off and spent the evening trying to cajole me into a sword fight. I relented on the condition that the loser would have to retire to bed and thankfully years of fencing lessons finally had some practical usage. Had I lost I imagine an eight o'clock bedtime would have been quite embarassing."

Moriarty was practically salivating.

"I was alone too," he offered in the silence.

The offering provided me with an unusual discomfort.

"Sherlock was never alone, he did not attend public school so had little interaction with children his own age but he was never alone."

The dark eyes looked at me eerily.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're lying."

He blinked at me.

"I beg your pardon."

My heart was pounding. I felt sick. He was making it up, he knew. He knew and now he was using it to hurt me, feeding me lies so that I would get angry and then he could get the truth from me. It's what he does.

"He's not like that," I hissed. "Not Sherlock. No. He is better than that. He is better than you and you hate it," I yelled at him. He sat like a statue and said nothing. Like he was carved from ice.

"You're jealous," I cooed at him with a laugh. "Of course you're jealous."

"What are you talking about?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"Wow, you really think you could have got me with the drugs thing. That I would have believed you. He's not like that though. He's too clever for that. Wouldn't...cloud his mind for something like that. He doesn't need that."

"Mr Moriarty, why on earth would I lie about him now if I haven't before?"

"Because you know," I screamed at him. I wanted to stab him, right in the centre of his throat as the muscles tensed to create that smug look. I wanted to twist it and watch the blood pour from his mouth as his eyes rolled back and he started to twitch in pain. I could strangle him with his own tie and pull it tight while he tried to fight me off until he became weak like a kitten. Until he stopped struggling and his body turned limp. Just like Carl.

"Know what," he titled his head and interlocked his fingers.

"Nooo," I laughed. "No. No. No. You won't make me say it."

He watched me for a long time after that. I suspect he watched me through the glass when he left too. That's all he ever seems to do lately.


	9. Chapter 9

"Let him go."

Mycroft gave the confirmation and his fellow agents watched him anxiously.

"Sir?"

"We have no further reason to detain him. He may go."

"Yes Sir."

* * *

"James Moriarty you are being released from questioning. Your belongings have been stored in locker one-ninety which you may now collect."

He remained silent as he took the key offered to him. He seemed to smile at it lovingly before turning and exiting through the heavy metal door to obtain his things.

It wasn't long before he admired his reflection in his Westwood suit, slightly crumpled but it would do for now. Openly grinning as the guard opened the door for him, he exited the premises and stepped into the waiting car.

Mycorft watched the surveillance camera with unease. What had he done?


	10. Chapter 10

Brushing away the small speck of dust on the sticky laminate, I placed the full page photographs delicately on the table in front of me. Black and white and at a distance. My, my. Someone really has a death-wish.

"Moran."

"Yes, Sir."

He stood stoic as ever to the right of my desk. Where he had put himself, not where I would have wanted him to be. Perhaps he gained some sort of self satisfying authority to make himself my 'right-hand man'. Hmm. Does he think me God?

"These are not good enough," I hissed, punctuating each word so he would understand. Why didn't they understand that I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. I laughed to myself. We both know that's not true. But this wasn't for fun. No. Not in any way was this fun.

"I'll have them take more, Sir."

I sighed and put my head upon the hard-wood desk. It was smooth and cool, extinguishing the outer fire at least.

"No," I moaned. "No, no. It's not enough."

I swiveled in my chair to glare at him. It's all just photos and stories with him. Words, Moran. Empty words. I can see him," I said with bitterness as I snatched up the grainy photographs. "But I want to touch him."

"Sir."

I blinked and felt that strange eye twitch when one of your nerves is being funny.

"What the hell does 'Sir' mean? Is that, "Yes Jim, I understand completely" or is it "No Jim you're an absolute loon"?

He said nothing.

"Well," I yelled at him.

"I'll go see to the photographs, Sir."

"No," I said to stop him as he did his trademark military saunter to the door. "I want to see him, really see him. Make it happen."

"Yes, Sir."

I leaned back into the smooth leather. I'm going to see him. In person. He may not be conscious though. Still, I can touch him.


	11. Chapter 11

He was perfect. Still and peaceful, angelic even. I'm not much of a fan of angels but I'd make an exception for him. He'd be so delicious if he were bad though. If I could just pull the feathers from his back one by one and hear him hiss as each one left him for good. He'd thank me for it in the end though. They always do.

Less could be said of the hovel in which he lay. Small, dingy and unfitting. Probably used to be some sort of drug den. Probably one of yours.

Perhaps.

I sat gently on the bed at his feet so as not to rouse him. I doubted Sebastian would have left it to chance though. I'm sure his nightly dose of cocaine had just the right mix of narcotics to keep him this way for at least a little while. Sure enough when I checked my phone I had the message I wanted.

Somehow, now that I was here, I felt less inclined. The burning was still there, so much of it that it consumed me. But not in the same way. Before, yes before, I would have given anything or gone anywhere or killed anyone even with my bare hands just to touch him. But now, now I wanted to make sure that nobody else so much as breathed his air let alone touch him.

He's everything I'm not. So pure. Just like his brother had said. That day in the small white room that I presume was supposed to drive me insane.

_"Sherlock never did make friends easily. The very thought of relationships seemed to alarm him. I fear I may have had a part in that. I was the one to seek out his inadequacies and make him painfully aware of them."_

"But he must have had admirers."

  
_"Why, yes, I suppose he must."_

"_But he never...hasn't..."_

"_That will be all."_

I'd screamed then. Screamed and screamed and screamed.

I wondered what Mycroft would do if he knew where I was. I laughed at the thought as I took out my phone again to take the photograph. Hmm. Slightly grainy and quite dark but enough to make it clear whose eye-catching cheekbones I was looking at.

I pressed send with a feeling of satisfaction. A month ago, he would have sent all the king's horses and men in the blink of an eye. Stop that mad-man! Defend my brother for Queen and country!

Not now. No. Not now nor never. He is mine now.


	12. Chapter 12

My breath caught in my chest as I looked down at the image on the small and pixelated screen. My hands shook and my thumb shuddered over the menu button.

Trying to calm myself, I sent a message.

_Come at once. URGENT. MH_

I opened the contact list and and found the number I needed, taking deep breaths as I called. The pauses between rings was becoming unbearable until I heard the automated voicemail.

Damn him.

I lunged for the black filofax resting on my desk and hastily flicked through the pages to find the number, entering it into my phone in a panic and willing them to answer.

I leaned forward on the desk and felt a jolt of relief when there was an answer.

"Who the bloody hell is this?"

"If you value your life you will not hang up this phone."

There was silence aside from a female voice in the background.

"Who is this?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Yeah, and? What do you want."

"My brother is in danger," I hissed, furious at his inattentiveness.

"How did you get this number? Call the police if it's an emergency!"

I held the phone aside for a moment as I cursed to myself.

"Sherlock Holmes is my brother," I yelled.

There was an audible groan.

"I'm on my way."

What?

"On your way where?"

Did he know where he was?

"I was guessing his apartment," he said brokenly as he pulled on clothes and dealt with the interjections of the woman.

"Tell me the address," I barked and immediately sent a message to my team when he confirmed it to me.

"I'll meet you there," he said gruffly before hanging up the phone.


	13. Chapter 13

The driver looked at me with slight alarm when I threw open my own door before the car had come to a complete rest. Was I too late? There was an intermittent wash of blue light from the grey escort car already parked outside the apartment block. So this was where he was living. Dank and rotted and secluded from all normal societal expectations of comfort.

I didn't hesitate as I climbed the multitude of rickety stairs and there was relief within me when I recognised the same police officer that had so often helped Sherlock in the past. I had often wondered why he showed such an interest in him.

"Where is he?"

"Mr Holmes, he's through here. I've called an ambulance, they're on their way."

I could barely take a breath as the horrors of why my baby brother would be in need of an ambulance filtered through my mind. Stepping into the tiny apartment room I took in the grime and absence of furniture. Scattered across the floor were various books and papers and in numerous parts of the room there lay used drug paraphernalia.

"Sherlock!"

My brother was slumped on a thin mattress in the corner, his curls falling dark and unruly as ever across his face. Kneeling beside him I brushed them aside and watched the pulse move in his exposed neck. He seemed unharmed aside from the drugs raging through his system that created the sheen of sweat and ghostly complexion.

"Did you see anyone leave this apartment building," I barked harshly at the officer.

"I've got some people at Scotland Yard checking the CCTV in the area now."

I held my head in my hands but regained my composure the moment the medic team arrived. The pulled back his eyelids and my own eyes watered as they shone the torch in his.

"What's his name," the young man asked as he began to take his pulse.

"Sherlock," I replied in a daze.

How much more of this could his body endure before it gave up entirely. Had he administered it this time or had Moriarty?

Sherlock gave a soft moan then as he regained consciousness.

"Lestrade," he murmured softly. I was surprised when the officer pushed past me to speak to him.

"You're alright Sherlock, I'm here. You're going to be alright."

"What happened," I heard him mumble as they tried to fit an oxygen mask on him despite his feeble resistance.

"What do you think? Drugs you bloody idiot," Lestrade half laughed.

My brother smiled then and allowed the medics to strap him to the board.

"You're brother's here," Lestrade said to him quietly.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge it but he did flinch as they lifted him.

"It burns," he exclaimed loudly as his fists clenched and he arched against the restraints.

My insides turned to ice as I watched him being carried down the many stairs and to the ambulance, the officer and I following close behind.

"Please go with him Mr Lestrade. I shall follow in the car."

I anticipated a role play of 'No, you must go' and 'oh no, I insist'. Instead he gave me a brief nod and stepped into the ambulance. Something familiar to him no doubt with my brother.

I made a mental note to have him promoted and climbed into the waiting car.


	14. Chapter 14

"Sherlock, you're being a pest," I groaned as he tugged at my leg beneath the table.

"Play with me," he whined and looked up at me, eyes wide and innocent from beneath unruly, dark curls and a far too large for him pirate hat.

"I should have never bought you that," I sighed as I pushed back my chair. Since his birthday last year it was almost permanently fixed to his head and on numerous occasions I ended the evening by prying it off him as he slept.

"You can be the Sea Merchant and I am the Captain of my pirate ship and I'm going to steal all your loot!"

He crawled from under the desk and hopped about the room, picking up the draft excluder from the doorway and looping it around his neck.

"Myyycroffft," he yelled dramatically as I rubbed my temples.

"It's the Monster of the Sea, it's got me. You have to save me!"

"But if I save you brother dear you'll go on to steal all my loot," I replied curtly with a stern look.

He pouted at me in a way he had often practiced.

"Go and play outside, Sherlock," I told him and with a heavy heart and heavy foot he left my room. I could hear him charge down the stairs and out the door to the sound of my mother scolding him.

I watched him through my window for a little while, just far back enough that he wouldn't see my shadow. Though he sees most everything. I wondered how a mind that appeared to be as brilliant as his could so often be wrapped so deeply into fantasy and fairy-tale but then I supposed that with a great mind comes a great need for escapism.


	15. Chapter 15

In my office now I laughed a little at the thought of Sherlock peering out from under my desk in a pirate hat but my good mood disappeared immediately when I opened the files that had been sent to me. The CCTV footage from outside Sherlock's flat from last night.

Opening it, I leaned forward in my chair in order to better see the screen and to make out the blurry and dark image. The video lasts for ten minutes having already been combed through at Scotland Yard to extract the important parts. It was time-stamped at 22.03 as a young man in a baseball cap and dark jacket enters the building with a key, then a few minutes of an empty porch and then the same man leaving again. This time however, he turns to the camera for a moment and salutes it.

My stomach twisted. Even in such a distorted image it is clear who the man is confirming that it had indeed been Moriarty who had sent me the image of my baby brother asleep in his own bed.

I jumped slightly as my phone buzzed.

_You know what I want._

I hastily replied.

_He is a human being. I do not own him therefore I cannot give him to you._

There was a horrible looming silence as I waited for his reply.

_That's a shame Mr Holmes. Bethnal Green._

Bethnal Green?

I stared down at my phone and then back to the frozen image of Moriarty saluting me through the computer screen. A few minutes passed before the phone on my desk began to ring and when I answered I felt the sinking feeling in my stomach that is followed by fear.

"Sir, reported attack on Bethnal Green Station. Police units dispatched but fatalities are yet unknown."

"Thank you," I replied calmly before placing the phone back on its receiver and placing my head in my hands in despair.


	16. Chapter 16

_He's awake, doing good so far. Withdrawal is getting to him though. Lestrade._

I read and re-read the message with relief. The number of times that boy has gone through withdrawal you would think it would put him off the drugs altogether but of course it only made him craftier in hiding his habit to ensure his supply isn't cut off to him. He never did want to accept my help in these matters, whether it was to fund a cleaner and safer living arrangement or to rid his body of his chosen vices.

Reluctantly I looked through my phone for the number and called.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mummy, it's Mycroft."

"Mycroft, darling! How are you, I left you a message with your secretary but she mustn't have passed it on because you never got back to me. I was just saying to your father-"

"Mother, I'm calling about Sherlock."

She was silent for a moment.

"What is it Mycroft, what's wrong?"

"Withdrawal will once again be setting in, I'm afraid."

She held the phone away for a moment while she informed our father. There was a quiet bickering for a moment.

"We'll be on our way to London in the next hour," she said with authority and asked me for the directions to the hospital.

She gave sounds of acknowledgment as she wrote everything down and then came straight to the heart of what I was hoping she wouldn't ask.

"Are you alright?"

I breathed deeply.

"I didn't even know where he was," I admitted. "I'm sorry."

At once she responded in her usual manner.

"Now Mycroft Holmes this is not your fault and we will all help Sherlock until he gets through that. There will be no more apologies from you, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Now we shall be there as soon as we can."

"I shall send a car to meet you at the station."

I expected her to grumble as she usually did that a taxi would do just fine but instead she let me have some saving grace in helping in a small way. Hanging up the phone I scanned through the many messages I had received in the space of the short phone call, picking out the most important.

_He's asking for you Mr Holmes. Lestrade._


	17. Chapter 17

Things were going exactly as they should. The security camera outside the hospital was rigged to play on my own computer on my desk and it was delightful. All the Holmes pigeons were flocking together as a family. How touching.

How could his parents be so ordinary? They were just dull, generic parenty type parents. Nothing exceptional. They'd never shown any sort of indication that they would have produced something like Sherlock. My little broken bird. Just the thought of him was sending me into a shiver. Remembering how it felt to see him in the flesh, to pull back his sleeve and run my fingers over the needle marks that punctured his arm. The temptation to spirit him away into the night, never to be seen again. Unless it was by me. The way it should be.

But that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't feel as satisfying as watching him toddle around London alone and defenseless now that his big brother was working for me. I could put those deductive skills to the test and leave him little clues to follow. A treasure map for a pirate adventure that would lead him to the big X. I could just picture him at the window on a dark and rainy night while I worked. Brooding and beautiful, his wings spreading each time I gave him some free reign.

Thank you Jim, he would whisper with a soft look of adoration as I measured out his fix for him. Just a little something to really get the fires going in his eyes, watch him beg for it. He would trust me and slowly I could dilute it down to the point of placebo. His observant mind oblivious and blinded to reality. It would be beautiful. He knows me. Jim understands.

"We complete each other," he would whisper. His soft curls running through my fingers as his head would lay in my lap. I could see his eyes drift closed as he succumbed to what he usually denied himself. In so many ways. Oh Sherlock.

There was a noise and I opened my eyes abruptly and glanced to the screen but nothing had changed.

I typed quickly into my phone and tried to get back to my imaginings once I'd sent it.

_I hope it's the right size._


	18. Chapter 18

"Oh look Sherl, Mycie has brought you a present. Isn't that lovely?"

She had no idea the disdain I contained within me in holding the large white box. I looked at my brother in the hopes that years of non-verbal communication had led to him perfectly understanding the dialogue I was trying to convey but I knew by the sickly pale skin and purple shadows beneath his eyes that even his mind was in no fit state to function at even a normal level.

"Drugs," he mumbled with a sarcastic smirk to the horror of our mother.

"Now Sherlock, you behave yourself. This is no laughing matter."

Usually hearing her chide Sherlock was one of my most favourite things but on this occasion her incessant droning began to grate on me.

"Mummy, please," I groaned.

Sherlock glanced at me, somewhat surprised that I had intervened.

"Sherlock isn't well, we mustn't shout at him," I smiled. "At least not yet."

There was a brief silence as we sat around the hospital bed before Sherlock asked if he could have his present now. It reminded me so much of all the years when he was a child, demanding his presents. Reluctantly I set it on his lap, thinking about the message I had received along with the note provided with the box.

He tore it open immediately with a look of pleased anticipation. The whole affair seemed as though everything had reverted back to the way it once was as Daddy watched my mother fondly and my mother watched Sherlock with a look of motherly pride and anguish.

Sherlock said nothing as he pulled a large, black coat from within the box.

"Oh, Mycie, that's a very handsome coat. Isn't it Sherly? Try it on," she beamed. Both at myself and Sherlock. She fussed around in order to help Sherlock stand to put the coat on despite all the tubes attached to the drip.

Sherlock looked down as he studied it, stretching his arms out as far as it wouldn't hurt him. He smoothed his hands along the fabric and struggled to the mirror in the tiny en-suite bathroom; admiring his reflection in the horrid fluorescent lighting. The three of us watched him warily as he turned to view the back and pulled the collar up.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I simply nodded, feeling sick to my core.

"It suits you," my father chirped and my mother hastily nodded her agreement.

"It does indeed, now we best put it back in the box so it doesn't get damaged. It's a lovely gift Mycroft."

I smiled blandly.

"I'm surprised Mycroft. You don't usually have such good taste."

I looked at the floor and said nothing but I could feel Sherlock's eyes on me as I stood up.

"I shall be back tomorrow, I'm afraid I have a lot of work to do."

My mother looked as though she were going to interject and prevent me from leaving but Sherlock cut her off.

"Thank you, Mycroft," he said with a severe look. One that conveyed a lot that couldn't be said in front of our parents. Thank you for being here. Thank you for looking out for me, for enlisting others to look out for me.

I gave a brief nod and then made a hasty exit.


End file.
